


devil and the deep blue sea behind me

by sirenofodysseus



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Canon Compliant, F/M, Lapdance, M/M, Morally Ambiguous Character, One Shot, Season 3, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-18 04:18:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14204886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirenofodysseus/pseuds/sirenofodysseus
Summary: 'He’s done some pretty depraved things in his lifetime, most of them in the name of Red John, but at least he’s never sold his body for the entertainment of others.Or, been on a stripper’s pole.'





	devil and the deep blue sea behind me

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I've given my boys some lovin'. <3 
> 
> As always, I own nothing and I'm just writing this piece for a little fun.

The moment _Grace Van Pelt_ flashes across Craig O’Laughlin’s cell phone, he considers removing his service weapon and blasting the phone to smithereens. Instead, he tucks the phone into his pocket and orders another gin and tonic from the bare-chested bartender, whose name escapes him.

 

It’s not that he doesn’t care, of course. It’s just...he’s got other pressing matters to attend to. Like drinking himself into a stupor, so he can’t remember why he’s drinking in the first place. Staring into the opalescent-liquid, adorned with a lime wedge, he feels trapped much like he did when Red John approached him, straight out of college, and offered him a way out of his _meaningless and despondent_ life in exchange for his loyalty and services.

 

_Services_ , Craig realizes a decade too late, that weren’t just limited to his degree in criminology or his standing within the FBI. Services, which unfortunately, included his attractive appearance.  

 

Feeling his phone vibrating again, he downs his drink and slams the glass down on the bar. If he answers the phone, he’ll have to play the lovesick fool. He’ll have to say how much he loves her and then, he’ll - down the line - have to propose to her, when that’s the last thing he wants to do. If he doesn’t answer the phone, he’ll have to pay the price because not answering is the equivalent of saying _no_ to a direct order, which is punishable by death.

 

And he’s not quite ready to die yet, especially so the cat-and-mouse games can continue between Patrick Jane and Red John.

 

Removing his phone from his jacket, he glances at his missed text messages. There’s four from Grace. One from Roy. And there’s three from Lorelei. He rolls his eyes at Grace’s concern, and he snorts at the threat-laced text messages from Roy and Lorelei, before he turns off his phone and orders two more drinks.

 

_If I’m going to die,_ he thinks as he loosens his tie and turns to eye the bare platform stage, _I’m going to do it right_. He pushes himself away from the bar, his fourth drink completely forgotten, when the background music suddenly becomes so pulsating he thinks that the ground might actually be shaking.

 

He sits back down, afraid he’ll bludgeon himself to death.

 

“Gentlemen and ladies,” he vaguely hears, above the music. “It’s half-past ten, which means it’s officially happy hour for our lucky men. Have your wallets handy; and to the women in the front row, please keep your hands to yourself for our first entertainer.” There’s a round of rowdy cheers and applause, after the entertainment’s name is announced and before the music starts again.

 

Craig turns, slightly, to face the now lit-stage where he watches a younger man take the stage. He eyes the _entertainment_ \- a _stripper_ \- in disdain as the man’s leather-clad body takes to the lone stripper pole, before he snorts. He’s done some pretty depraved things in his lifetime,

most of them in the name of Red John, but at least he’s never sold his body for the entertainment of others.

 

Or, been on a stripper’s pole.

 

He thinks it’s pitiful.

 

_What would your mother think?_ Craig asks silently, imagining the man’s mother dressing her son down for his disgrace. He frowns. _At least the stripper can be honest with his mother_. If he told his mother he was a murderer and a _liar_ , disgraced was the last thing she’d be. She’d box his ears in.

 

He orders another drink from the bartender, because he doesn’t want to think about his mother either. So, he busies himself by chomping on ice chips and scrutinizing the life choices made by strippers, who were probably hell of a lot more righteously moral than he’d ever be.

 

“Last but certainly not least,” the disembodied voice adds, after the seventh or so announcement - all related to the myriad of entertainment. “Our newest addition to the Ballroom crew, Sacramento’s own Lu.” Craig hears the tepid applause from the clubgoers and he blinks, before he studies the stage. He supposes, like murderers, all strippers have to start somewhere too.

 

Out from behind the red curtain and in a pair of tight white jeans, steps Sacramento’s own Lu. Craig’s not impressed, because the ‘adult’ on stage looks to be about seventeen-years-old and _god forbid_ , he’s going to hell for watching others take advantage of a gyrating seventeen-year-old.

 

He finishes his drink and moves closer to the stage, where he sits again. Craig’s obviously not about to interfere with the performance, as the unforeseen consequences are far too damning. Especially if he’s thrown out and Red John or Grace learn of his extracurricular activities at a gay strip club. He’s, of course, not ashamed of being bi - but it’s still something he’d rather not disclose to a sociopath.

 

Eyeing Lu, who has his hands wrapped around the tarnished pole, Craig remembers himself at seventeen. Impressionable, awkward, and somewhat of a rebel. If someone had warned him against Red John at the age of seventeen - or even, at twenty-years old - his past self would have said, _go fuck yourself because I know what I’m doing_.

 

_Stupid fucking teenagers_ , Craig thinks with a grimace.

 

He imagines Lu to be the same; stubborn, argumentative and above all else, stupid to a fault.  Craig supposes he could scare the shit out of him. _I wasn’t much older than you when I joined a sociopath. I didn’t realize how deep I was until after I had killed for him. By then, it was far too late for me to get out - but it’s not too late for you._

 

And while murdering innocent individuals and stripping for the public aren’t even close to being on the same spectrum, Craig feels it really wouldn’t be all that illogical to start stripping only to become a murderer somewhere down the road.

 

After that chilling thought, the stage or Lu really doesn’t hold that much interest anymore.

 

He blinks twice and starts to stand, finally ready to leave and face his own demons, only to be shoved back down in his seat by the bare-chested Lu. Craig stares, as he’s straddled by the young brunette who seems to think its A-Okay to pull unwilling volunteers into his act. He considers telling the kid to get lost, because he’s not about to be arrested for statutory rape _and_ murder, but the thought dies as soon as the brunette gyrates against him.

 

He moans.

 

_This is wrong_ , a part of him screams. But then again, everything about his life - before Lu’s impromptu lap dance - had been _wrong_.

 

What was it again that Red John had once said to him? That there was no such thing as _good_ or _bad_ or _right_ or _wrong_. That things just...happened and life would be better for him, once he accepted that miniscule fact.

 

Copping a feel on the stripper’s ass, however, Craig supposes not everything about Red John is deplorable. Even if his scruples toward the sanctity of human life are mostly contentious.

 

He half-expects the stripper to slap him.

 

Or the club’s security to toss him out on his ass.

 

But the brunette only smirks, before he bends down to whisper, “let me help you.”

  
And because he’s always been terrible at saying _no_ , Craig says, “okay.” and he swallows roughly instead.


End file.
